


We Don't Get Happy Endings

by TeyrianTimelord



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Angst, Anorexia, Don't worry no one we love dies, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Everyone Has Issues, F/M, Heroin, Human Trafficking, M/M, Multi, Organized Crime, Polyamory, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Russian Mafia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-09
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-14 00:51:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,575
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7992538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeyrianTimelord/pseuds/TeyrianTimelord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky and Natasha leave Steve behind in New York to study abroad in Moscow, but the semester goes for a gruesome turn. The pressure of Bolshoi training takes a serious toll on Natasha's physical and mental health, Bucky resorts to desperate measures to make up for his newfound loneliness, and it's up to Steve to deal with the aftermath when a sick twist of fate drives them back home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Don't Get Happy Endings

**Author's Note:**

> I cannot express how proud I am of this fic! It took me hours of research and a week of writing to finish, but here it is! As a disclaimer, I have never been to Russia, so if there are any inaccuracies, please let me know. 
> 
> Please enjoy!

Steve waited until he watched Bucky and Natasha walk through the revolving doors to finally put his truck in gear and drive away from the airport's drop-off zone. He took a deep breath as he forced himself to look forward instead of back, and made sure his cellphone was on top of his leg so he wouldn't miss a beat if one of them called for a last minute emergency. His brain told him that he would not hear from them for at least another 10 hours, but a selfish corner of his heart wanted nothing more than for the flight be cancelled and to keep his two best friends for another day or so. He knew it was Natasha's dream to study ballet with the Bolshoi and that Bucky had the rare opportunity to go abroad on someone else's bill entirely, but the three of them had been inseparable since freshman year of high school and the thought of spending his junior year of college without them was unbearable. Like the amazing friends they were, they had both offered to stay behind, or even pool their money to bring him along as well if he wanted, but Steve refused to be the one to stand in the way of what could be the greatest adventure of their lives. Even if he wasn't a part of it.

“We'll be back before you even have time to miss us" Bucky had promised as Steve helped him unload his bags onto the sidewalk. "I promise to keep you updated."

“You'll be having too much fun to keep in touch," Steve responded with a melancholy smile, trying to be happy for them but not being fully able to keep his sadness from showing.

Natasha had kissed him on the cheek and given him the biggest hug he had ever received in his life.

"Make good choices, kiddo," she whispered in his ear before picking up her own bags and handing a boarding pass over to Bucky, heading into the terminal. All smiles.

That was the image Steve tried to keep in his mind as he drove the hour back from the airport to their -no, his- now empty three-bedroom apartment. What few and bulky items his roommates had not taken with them sat in a pile of boxes soon to be sent to storage so Steve could sublease their rooms as he pleased. The thought made him sigh audibly. He would have to rent the rooms out soon; there was no way he could pay rent on the place by himself. But he could wait for a few days before asking around. He could take the time to throw a pity party and acclimate to the next ten months without the two people he loved most.

***

**Hey Steve,**

**You aced that psychology exam, right? Of course you did. You always do.**

**I'm worried about Natasha. I haven't seen her in three days and I'm starting to suspect she's sleeping at that damn dance studio. She isn't answering my calls. I'd ask you to Skype her, but her laptop is still in her room so I know she won't get it.**

**My Russian is still pretty lousy. Without Nat around to help translate, I can barely understand what people are trying to tell me. Thank God we only have another eight months until we get to come home.**

**Let me know if your box of souvenirs still hasn't come in the mail by next week. For the shipping I paid on that thing, it better be in your mailbox in the next few days or I might burn down the post office.**

**Bucky**

Bucky didn't bother to read the email twice before clicking send. He had sent dozens of emails to Steve just like it over the last two months and to be frank they were the only thing keeping him sane. Everything had started out as perfectly as anyone could have hoped for. He and Natasha settled into a shoebox apartment half way between Lomonosov Moscow State University and the Bolshoi Ballet Academy so they could continue their separate studies while still staying connected. The flat was tiny and slightly grimy, but the thrill of being in a new country for the first time was enough to make it bearable. Natasha had been giddy out of her mind to be back in her native home and wasted no time showing him around the city, introducing him to the new landscape and sneaking him to all the best hideaways only a local could know. But the best part about it all had been her. Sure, he was studying abroad because his parents wanted him to have a resume builder, but Natasha's lifelong dreams were literally coming true and he got to watch it happen. He and Steve were always there to support her through the countless hours of abuse she put on her body to be the athlete and performer she had become, striving her whole life to one day go back to Russia and learn from the greatest dancers in the world. He was grateful to be part of her life, until suddenly he wasn't.

The week before classes started was a paradise on earth, but as soon as ballet training whisked Natasha away, Bucky had never felt so lost and confused. His classes had enough English for him to coast through attendance, but it soon dawned on him when he found himself utterly lost in Red Square that he should have paid more attention to Natasha's language and culture lectures. His conversational Romanian did not get him as far as he hoped, and while Nat swore up and down that she would make time to teach him more Russian, he was lucky if he could catch her for a few minutes before she crashed into her four hour sleep block. Nowadays he barely saw her at all. Either she snuck in after he went to sleep and left before he woke up or just wasn't coming home. He suspected the latter after he stayed up all night waiting to talk to her. More than anything in the world, he wished things could be the same here as they had been in the United States. He would have cut off his arm to have Steve, to sit and do homework together in the corner of Natasha's ballet studio so they could watch her practice and write as many essays for her as it so she could pass her gen-eds without giving up her practice regiment. He just wanted to be home.

As if some god had been listening to his silent prayer, the front door of the apartment creaked open, almost too quietly for Bucky to hear, and in stumbled Natasha. She was still clothed in her leotard and tights, hair held tightly in its bun except for a few frazzled strands hanging over her paler than usual face. Nat had come home from some rough practices before, but Bucky could not remember ever seeing so exhausted. Her shoulders looked as if gravity itself had a grudge with them, trying to pull them deep into the earth and she no longer had the will to fight it. Her eyes were so empty they seemed to look right past him and into a nothingness only extreme enervation could induce. And she was thin. So terribly thin. He immediately jumped up from the sofa to give her a hug, but instead she walked right past his open arms and collapsed right onto the couch, her dance bag still clutched in her left hand.

"Christ, Nat," Bucky hissed, sitting back down and starting to pull bobby pins out of her hair.

"Don't touch them," she grumbled weakly through the pillow her face was buried in. "I only have three hours before I have to get back to the Academy for more practice."

Bucky bit his lip. This was the first time in two weeks he was really able to get a good look at her, and he was terrified of what he saw. Natasha had always been naturally slender, and lean from her years of dedication, but he could count nearly all the vertebrae down her back and he was worried he might cut his hand on her shoulder blades.

"Natasha, when is the last time you've had a full night's sleep and a decent meal?!" he asked sharply.

She rolled over onto her back and shot him a glare that could melt iron.

"Get off my ass, Barnes," she snapped. "I'm nearly at the bottom of my class! I'm doing what I have to."

"You're killing yourself is what you're doing," he growled back. "Listen, I know this is everything you've ever wanted but it's not worth destroying yourself."

Letting out of big huff and lifting her shaking arms, Natasha pushed herself up to a sitting position. She was one of the most physically strong people Bucky had ever met, but now she looked so warn down that he could have snapped her in half with one hand.

"And what do you know about it? You've never been motivated a day in your life. I have spent the last fifteen years working toward this and I sure as hell am not going to give it up just because things get a little rough. You don't understand, Bucky, and you never will, so just leave me the fuck alone!"

Before Bucky could say anything in reply, Nat shoved herself back up onto her feet, took a moment to steady herself, and stormed back out toward the door.

"Where are you going?!" he asked desperately, not wanting to waste the last few seconds he had left on some equally hurtful reply.

"Back to the Academy. I need to practice," she snarled before slamming the door.

Bucky drove his face down into a pillow and tried not to scream.

***

 

" _He only does it because he cares about you_ ," Yelena said, folding herself in half to grab the back of her heels.

" _I know_ ," Natasha answered from her middle splits, head propped up by her hands as she planted her elbows on the hardwood floor. " _But he just doesn't understand_."

The older ballerina swiftly and elegantly dropped into her own splits so she could look Natasha in the eyes. Her gaze was the color of steely ice, but still had its characteristic warmth. Natasha always wondered how her childhood friend had managed to keep herself so bright through everything that had gone wrong in her life, rising from poverty and hardship to be top of her class. Natasha remembered when they were five years old and her mother would send her to school with extra bread for Yelena. Yet the girl always kept her head up, even when at ten years old Natasha had to leave her behind for the United States. It was astounding, and a secret the girl refused to share.

" _He never will, Natalia, and he doesn't have to. You're all he has here, so of course he wants you all to himself. Tell you what, my brothers are having a party tonight over in the Arbat District. Why don't you send Bucky? It might be good for him to make some new friends_."

Natasha tried to think it over, but she was so tired her brain could barely process the words Yelena was saying. She wasn't mad at Bucky, not really, just frustrated. He should have been out taking advantage of this wonderful opportunity, being happy for her, exploring the city, learning the culture, not cooping himself up inside instant-messaging Steve all day. Maybe Yelena was right. Well, of course Yelena was right. She was always right.

" _Give me the address and I'll drop it off at the apartment_."

***

Bucky didn't remember much when he woke up the next morning, lying face down in a bed that definitely was not his own. He could recall most of the afternoon, but after that there were hazy black gaps in his memory. He remembered Natasha coming home and apologizing for biting his head off the night before, handing him a paper with an address and money for cab fare. He remembered her begging him to go and instructing him to ask for Alexei and Dima Belov at the door. He remembered making it to an alley far from the tourist areas of Arbat, wondering what in the hell Nat was thinking sending him to this part of town. He remembered finding a doorman guarding a staircase leading down below a store front and being granted easy entry by dropping the two names she had given him. He remembered meeting two young men not much older than himself, babbling on in broken English about how they had heard so much about him from their sister and that he would fit in perfectly with their circle. He remembered accepting a drink and a blunt and then there was nothing.

"Ah _, my brother,_ finally you wake!" came a deep rumbling voice from across the room, booming like thunder in Bucky's sensitive ears and banging on the sides of his skull.

Great. A hangover was just what he needed to go with that memory loss. He looked around and found the source of his agony in the form of one of the young men from last night, leaning on the wall right next to the bed. Alexei? Yes, he remembered, Alexei was the tall one and Dima was the one with the scar over his eye. He noticed the latter standing in the doorway on the other side of the room, silently smoking a cigarette.

"Yelena was right about you," Alexei continued. "I see great things in you, American. Great things!"

Bucky rubbed his temples and wished the other man would just shut up and give him time to think. Where even was he? What time was it? Where was his phone? Why did everything hurt and why couldn't he remember anything and why... why, on top of all of this, did everything feel surprisingly okay? Unlike Steve, Bucky liked attending his fair share of raging house parties with the campus fraternities, so it was a given that every once in a while he would wake up in various states of morning-after-mess. But with those, at least he knew where he was and that he was a dumbass for letting things get out of hand. Now, things were different. He was confused and hazy and really dizzy and couldn't remember a damn thing but everything somehow felt... okay. There was no other word for it than just 'okay.'

"Thanks, I guess," Bucky said back, gingerly sliding out of the bed. He said a silent prayer of thanks that all of his clothes were still on. "So we must have had fun last night?"

Dima scowled sourly from his position by the door, muttering under his breath in Russian, but Alexei chuckled.

"Oh, my new friend, you had much fun."

The fair-haired man fished through his pocket and produced a small plastic bag twisted in on itself. He tossed it over to Bucky, and the moment it landed in his hands his whole body froze. Inside was a fine white powder, clinging to itself in clumps. All the air in the room suddenly seemed to vanish. No, that couldn't be possible. Could it? He would never. Would he?

"There-there must be some mistake," Bucky stammered.

"No mistake, American," Dima finally spoke up. "You asked and we delivered.  You don't pussyfoot now."

Bucky screwed his eyes shut and tried to silence the tumult roiling around in his head. Half of his brain was a tempest of fear and discord and uncertainty, frothing with shame and the never ending question of what would Steve do? What would Steve say? What would Steve think? But almost more paralyzing was the sense of calm that simply refused to jump ship. It's okay, it kept whispering in a soothing tone. Everything is okay. But he knew nothing was okay, and nothing would be for a very long time.

"I should go," he tried to assert strongly, but barely came out as more than a whisper.

"Why the rush, my friend?" Alexei asked cheerfully and clamped down one of his large hands on Bucky's shoulder. "We made so many big plans last night! Come, you meet the rest of our family. Avtoritet wants to speak with you."

 

Bucky rubbed his sweating palms on his jeans as Alexei guided him out of the bedroom. It was only then he realized how violently his hands were trembling, and he quickly shoved them into his pockets to keep Alexei or Dima from noticing his anxiety. A knot formed in his throat as his fingers brushed over smooth plastic. He thought he had dropped the bag back onto the bed, or kicked it onto the floor, but instead... instead what? He didn't remember, but everything was okay, wasn't it?

Everything is okay.

***

Natasha took a deep breath and clasped the thick envelope to her chest. She knew the routine; everyone did. She had seen her mother do it countless times with her dance teachers to make sure she always had a spot in the classes, their landlord when they needed a lease extension, hell, even the owner of the local grocer to make sure they could get the freshest food. But she had been young, and when they moved to the United States those exchanges ceased to be necessary parts of life and rather became harmless memories. She never imagined that she would be the one nonchalantly strolling through the city with half a year's worth of rent sandwiched between two of Bucky's literature essays from the beginning of the semester. She kept her face calm and her posture composed, but under her skin, her blood was boiling. Still, a pang of guilt stabbed at her heart. She should have caught on earlier; she would have if she had paid more attention instead of leaving him to fend for himself. God, she wasn't sure if she was going to hug him and never let go or kick his ass herself.

Coming up on the entrance of the police station, Nat took one more deep breath to steady herself before confidently strolling through the doors. As she approached the front desk, a middle aged man who looked far too overweight to be an effective police officer barely looked up from the paper he was reading, but still said, " _You must be Ms. Romanova_."

" _I am_ ," she answered, voice as stoic and stable as she could make it. " _With what we agreed upon over the phone last night._ "

The officer nodded and accepted the envelope. Natasha had to resist sneering with disgust as he pulled out the rubles and began counting them in plain sight. By no means was Natasha the patriotic or humanitarian type, but it made her stomach churn to see the corruption that choked her homeland so blatantly flaunted. Still, she had no room complain. It was the broken system that was allowing her to bail her roommate out of jail instead of detaining him for the rest of his miserable life.

 _"You should know, little one_ ," the officer warned gruffly. " _It will not be so cheap the next time your friend finds himself smuggling for Solntsevskaya."_

" _Solntsevskaya_?!" she exclaimed, hands crumpling into fists. " _You told me he was arrested for using heroin, not smuggling it for the Bratva."_

The officer gave a little grin that Natasha wanted to slap right off his face.

 _"If I had reported Bratva activity, it would not have been so easy to make his file disappear_."

This time, Natasha could not keep disgust from contorting the corners of her lips.

" _Can I please take him home now_?"

The officer slowly hefted himself to his feet and beckoned for her to follow as he lumbered down a hallway behind the desk to the holding cells. The whole corridor reeked of cheap vodka, cigarette smoke, stale vomit, and unwashed men. She wrapped her scarf high around her head, but it did not stop the detainees from catcalling and whistling with every cell they passed. Finally, they came to the end of the row and there lying dead asleep on the dank floor was Bucky. His once grey University sweatshirt was now various shades of black and brown from God only knew what. His jeans were more shredded threads than actual pants, and he was only wearing one of his sneakers. She didn't have to look closely to know he obviously hadn't bathed in days, both from the greasy stringiness of his hair and the pungent stench. If she had not been looking closely, she easily could have walked right passed and never thought twice about just another homeless drug addict. But no, it was her roommate and her best friend, and she was coughing up a significant portion of her college fund to bribe him out of jail.

The officer unlocked the cell door and threw it open with a loud _slam!_ causing Bucky to startle awake. His bloodshot eyes frantically flitted around the room before they finally came to rest on Natasha and widened with recognition.

"Nat?" he started. "Nat, thank God you-"

"Get up," she ordered coldly, grabbing him by the arm and practically hauling him out of the cell. She would force him through a warm and fuzzy heart-to-heart back in the States with Steve there to play good cop, but right now she had to make a point. She turned to the police officer.

" _Thank you. For your silence_."

Natasha handed him a few more rubles and he turned his back while she pulled Bucky back through the station and out onto the street. The sidewalk had a light dusting of snow that gave the pavement a bleakness in the dying light, which only made her poorly dressed friend look even more pathetic. She quickly hailed a cab and waited until they were safely inside before she let loose.

"What the hell were you thinking?!" she demanded furiously, grabbing the front of Bucky's sweatshirt with both hands to force him to look at her. "If you hadn't been carrying the cash needed to buy yourself a phone call, you would be freezing to death in Mordovia by next week! Russia doesn't send criminals home, especially not criminals who work for the Bratva! Do you have any idea what your parents would do if I got off that plane alone? Hell, what Steve would do? I already have your bags packed. You're flying back to New York tomorrow."

He pushed her hands away and huddled back to the opposite side of the seat, curling up on himself and refusing to look her in the eye. He was trying to be discreet, but she could see him scratching at his arm as plain as day.

 

"Look, I'm really grateful you bailed me out, and I promise I'm going to pay you back, but I can't leave. Alexei has an important job for me tomorrow and I can't skip out on him."

The desperation in his voice broke Natasha's heart, but she stayed firm.

"Like hell you can't. I already called your family and told them to buy you a ticket. I left out the fact that it's because you're a heroin addict working for the Russian mafia."

The words stung her tongue like salt on a wound, and she could tell they hurt him too. She did not regret speaking the truth, but she immediately felt awful for being so brash with it. Bucky opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if each time trying to spit out a scathing remark but each time being unable to find the words. He was shaking all over now, and she knew the withdrawal was starting to take its toll on his body. If only Steve was around to know exactly what to say, exactly what to do, to make it all better. They sat in silence for a few moments, Natasha staring at Bucky and Bucky staring at his feet, until he suddenly leaned forward toward the driver.

"Hey! Hey, do you speak English? Stop here. Stop here!"

" _Don't stop_!" Natasha ordered in Russian. " _Keep going to the address I gave you_."

Bucky was practically crawling into the front seat and she had to grab his hood to keep him from lurching any further toward the driver.

"I said pull over, Jesus Christ, I need to get out!"

Natasha swore under her breath when the cab came to a sudden stop.

" _Fucking Americans_!" the driver growled angrily. " _Get out before I call the police_."

Before she could apologize profusely, Bucky had thrown open the door and was sprinting across the street. She let out a frustrated groan and bolted after him. On a good day, she was lighter and faster than him, despite his longer legs, but he was bobbing and weaving through foot traffic as if the devil himself was chasing him down, and the lack of food in her system was killing her energy. Natasha knew that if she didn't catch him soon, there was no telling when she would see him next. She would give it all up -Moscow, the Bolshoi, ballet, everything- if he would just give up and come back with her right now. She was gaining on him, and finally she had him in her sights. All she needed now was one big push and he was hers. One more big, hard push...

Right when Bucky was nearly in arms reach, something extended under her legs and Natasha toppled to the ground, landing face first on the concrete sidewalk. It barely took a few seconds to taste the tang of hot blood run into her mouth from her busted nose. She tried to hoist herself back up only to be met with a shot of pain in her elbow. Doing her best to push past her injuries, she crawled over to the nearest wall and used it as support to finally get back onto her feet, despite her aching knees. Bucky. All that mattered was Bucky. She needed to catch up with him. Natasha started limping forward, but before she could get far, a damp cloth came down over her mouth and in just one breath the whole world went black.

***

Bucky whimpered as Yelena pulled the needle out of his arm. Though he was elated to finally be at peace again after that nightmare stint, there had to be more. Christ, there had to be more!

"That can't be all of it," he whined.

"Patience, my love," she answered in a velvet smooth voice, running a soft hand over his cheek. "All you have to do is finish this job and you can have anything you heart desires. Just take the truck and Alexei will be waiting for you in Minsk. It's nothing you cannot handle, right dear?"

He could only moan to indicate his agreement. The drive to Belarus was eight hours with good traffic. He wanted to believe he could make it that long, but after spending the whole night in jail and then having to practically run for his life from Natasha, all he really wanted was a long, slow-riding high, not some quick fix. The last thing his nerves needed was to drive half way across Eastern Europe, but if that's what it would take, then that's all he could do.

Yelena planted a soft kiss on his forehead before slipping the keys to Dima's moving truck into his hands. He saw her watching him like a hawk as he took off down the driveway, and he tried not to think about Natasha or Steve. They had been plaguing his mind more often than he would have liked, appearing in his dreams and his highs. He knew there was no place for them in his life anymore, and he thought he had come to terms with that when gave Nat the slip back in Moscow, but now he saw them in everything and everyone; personifications of the regret he spent so many hours trying to repress.

Bucky liked the way time passed when he was coming down. It was as if the clock no longer inched forward in short, agonizing ticks, but rather flowed seamlessly in a river of unending minutes that all blended softly together. It was the only thing that made day-long jobs even slightly bearable. At least for the beginning, he did not have to count the seconds. He could just drive and pretend the silent smoothness was enough. But suddenly, it wasn't smooth at all. It was loud. A dull pounding pulsed through the cab of the truck with an unwavering constancy. At first Bucky thought it was just in his head, that he was having some strange new side effect, but it continued long after he knew there was nothing left in his system. He tried to ignore it, but an hour later the infernal pounding still had not stopped and his already frazzled nerves could no longer take it. As soon as he was sure the highway was clear and that there was no one around to follow him, he veered off onto a small exit road that wound into the forest and pulled over to a small dirt lot next to an abandoned petrol station. When he turned off the engine, Bucky realized the noise was coming from the back of the truck. Not in the undercarriage where a noise like that should have been coming from.

He groaned and lit a cigarette in a feeble attempt to slow down the trembling in his hands. This was supposed to be a simple job; just get the heroin from Moscow to Minsk. Inhaling a deep drag and putting on his coat, he slid out of the cab and unlocked the back of the truck. As soon as he opened the double doors, a large weight hit him square in the chest and he went tumbling into the snow. He rolled over coughing, the air being completely knocked out of his lungs, and saw lying next to him the thing that had attacked him: a person. It was a fucking person. He frantically forced himself back up so he could look back into the truck and nearly vomited. Rather than being packed with opiates like on his normal runs, six young women sat huddled as far into the truck as they could go, their hands and feet bound with zipties and gags tied around their mouths. They whimpered and cried at the sight of him, but were powerless to do anything. Fear took hold of his stomach with an iron grip. No. No, this was not what he signed up for. Drugs, he could do. Weapons, could do. Hell, he had even transported human organs a couple of times, but never people. Never girls. Oh God, what had he done?

"Bucky?"

He whipped around to the figure who was lying back down in the snow. His heart stopped beating for a moment.

"Natasha?!"

Forgetting all the anger from Moscow, he immediately grabbed the knife out of his back pocket and cut the bonds from her hands before sweeping her up in the tightest embrace he had ever given. He nearly sobbed when she hugged him back, wrapping her arms around his waist and nestling her face in his chest. He tangled his fingers in her hair and tucked her closer, as if maybe by holding her tightly enough he could shield them both from the world that was crashing down around his head. Taking a moment to look down, he saw bruises all around her neck, dried blood caked to her chin, lacerations all around her face, and he knew all the heroin in the world would never be able to put his mind at ease. No drug and no drink would erase the sight of her right now so long as he lived. He had not meant for this to happen. God, he had not meant for her, or any other girls like her, to get hurt.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't know," he whispered in her ear. "I didn't know. I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

"I know," she replied softly, tilting her head up to look into his eyes.

He winced at seeing her battered face straight on. The last time he had seen her, she had still been wearing the full stage makeup from a dress rehearsal. Every inch of skin above her neck was painted to perfection with glimmering powders and precise lines. Now it was just as covered, but not with the beautiful paints she had worked so hard to master. He once more felt sick to his stomach and had to close his eyes to keep the world from spinning. First came the shame, then came the rage.

They knew. Yelena and Alexei and Dima knew. He needed to get Natasha safely on a plane to New York, and then he needed to go back to Moscow.

"Bucky, I know you're sick and I know you're confused, but we need to get these girls back to their families, okay? That's the only way we can make things better," Natasha stated, and Bucky nearly cried. He didn't deserve her in his life.

Without another word, she slowly backed out of his arms, picked his knife up off the ground, and went to work freeing the other girls from their bonds, speaking to them gently and reassuringly in Russian. Her voice sounded like a lullaby, and all Bucky could do was watch. The girls were all weeping, hugging and kissing Natasha, anointing her as a saint with their tears. She had saved them from a fate worse than death; a fate he had been delivering them to. He could not move. Had there been others? Were there other girls he had carted off while blindly following orders? Had he been destroying lives this whole time just to get his next fix?

"We need to go," Natasha ordered, interrupting the maelstrom thrashing around in his brain. "Drive back to Moscow. Skirt the populated areas and go in on the west side of the city. That will give us more time to get the girls home before Solntsevskaya spies recognize the truck. I'll stay in the back with them."

"You can't go back," he objected. "We should go to Minsk and get you on a plane. Then I'll take them home."

"We are not discussing this." Her voice was colder and harder than the frozen blacktop under their feet, and as much as he wanted to, he knew there was nothing else he could argue.

He turned to get back in the cab of the truck, but Natasha put a hand on his shoulder. As he turned around to see what else she might need, she caught his lips in her own and he felt himself melt. She wrapped her arms around his neck, swept off his hat and twisted her fingers in his hair. She was in control, and he surrendered completely. She could have put a bullet between his eyes right there and he would die satisfied. He was nothing in her hands, her saintly hands. When she pulled away, he felt his legs go weak and he dropped to his knees at her feet, his head resting against her stomach. Bucky wished he could stay there forever, feeling her breathe and praying to her for forgiveness as if she was a goddess. She cupped her hand under his chin and raised his face to look at her, and she gave a genuine, sad, reassuring smile.

"Everything is going to be okay. I promise."

***

Natasha shivered in the midnight air, but a warmth filled her heart as she helped the last girl jump down from the back of the truck and run to the open doorway of a small house on the outskirts of Moscow. Two women, her mother and her babushka, met her at the porch with arms stretched wide open, embracing her and weeping. Her name was Masha, and she was seventeen years old. She wanted to go to college in Germany to study civil engineering so she could become an urban planner who assisted small cities in need throughout Europe. Nat smiled. This girl was going to do great things with her life.

" _Bless you_!" Masha's grandmother called, raising a frail arm toward Natasha. _"God bless you for bringing her back to us_."

Natasha only gave a little wave in reply before closing up the back of the truck and hopping into the cab with Bucky. His red-rimmed eyes were still glued to Masha and her family, now shuffling themselves back inside. She suppressed a sigh. She wanted to tell him that it wasn't his fault because he didn't know. She wanted to tell him that the girls were all going to be fine; that they would lead normal lives, that this trauma would not scar them permanently. She wanted to tell him that she was fine, that she wasn't holding herself together by a thread, that she couldn't feel every part of her heart crumbling away into dust, that it wasn't just a matter of time before she was going to crack. Most of all, she wanted to tell him that kiss meant she forgave him and didn't blame him for everything that had happened.

But she couldn't.

So instead she just reached over and held his hand. She still loved him. How could she not? They sat in silence for several minutes, savoring the silence and the calm, but Natasha knew they had to keep going. They were on borrowed time.

"We have to ditch the truck and walk back to the apartment to get our passports. Then we need to get to the airport and get the hell back to New York," she said sternly but not harshly.

"No," Bucky answered, not meeting her gaze but still staring at the lights in Masha's windows. "We'll pick up our passports, I'll make sure you get on the plane safely, then I'll catch a flight tomorrow. There's something I need to do first."

Natasha could see the wrath in his eyes and knew what he had in mind.

"James Buchanan Barnes, absolutely not," she warned. "We are getting on that plane together if I have to drag your ass there myself."

He slammed his fists down on the dashboard so suddenly and so sharply that a crack ran through the old plastic and Nat jumped.

"Damnit, Natasha, you don't understand! This is the only way I can fix what I've done! I need to get you to safety and I need to make the Belovs pay."

"You already fixed what you could when you brought those girls back to their families. Going after Solntsevskaya bratoks will only make things worse," she tried to explain, though she already knew he was beyond reason.

"You don't understand," he repeated bitterly.

"For Christ's sake, James, getting yourself killed won't make anything better. Please, just come home." Now she was just desperate, making her last ditch effort.

This time, Bucky didn't respond at all. Instead he just started driving. Natasha leaned her head against the passenger window, watching her breath mist over the glass as the dark city flew by. The wheels in her head kept spinning, working away as she formulated a plan to get them both back to New York, and Steve, in one piece. As they pulled up to the apartment, she finally knew what she had to do. It should have made her cringe, it should have made her afraid, but after everything that had happened over the last couple of days, this would be the easy part. She closed her eyes and prayed for a few minutes of sleep.

***

His hands were shaking again. It felt like they were always doing that. He couldn't remember a sober moment since the first night he had met his supposed new "friends" that his hands had been steady. He wished he had one more dose, just one last dose, to still his hands long enough to do what had to be done. The Makarov Alexei had given him on his second job felt cold and heavy as he loaded the magazine. Four bullets, that's all it would take. One for Alexei, one for Dima, one for Yelena and one... one in case he couldn't live with what was left.

He waited anxiously outside Yelena's studio. The Belov siblings had a solid schedule that ran tighter than a train station. The Arbat streets were only just beginning to be touched by the gray light of a rising sun, but he knew the three of them were already awake, drinking coffee around her small breakfast table and discussing what had to be moved in the upcoming week. He wondered what they were saying; about him, about their lost "cargo." He wondered if it ever crossed their minds that how many lives they nearly ruined, including Natasha's. Bucky decided that Yelena would get the first shot. It was horrific enough to sell strangers, but to betray a childhood friend was abhorrent beyond measure.

If he could get his damn hands to stop shaking.

Bucky quickly lit a cigarette in a last effort to soothe his nerves, taking several quick but deep drags. It didn't help. There was nothing left to do but clasp the gun as tightly as humanly possible and get it over with. He slinked across the street and up the fire escape, not caring if anyone but he targets spotted him. It made no difference if anyone saw him or the police came knocking. No matter what happened after the fact, everything would be over soon. The fire escape led him to the edge of the window in Yelena's kitchen, the only hidden corner where he could catch them by surprise. He raised the glass as quietly as he could, not even breathing in case the extra noise might draw their attention. Rolling in, he granted himself one minute to sit hunched on the ground. All he needed was one minute to reach the finality and serenity he would not be able to complete this mission without. He counted down from 60, and then gave the pistol one last grip before jumping out of the kitchen to the living room.

The already bloody living room.

Yelena, Dima, and Alexei were all still sitting in their normal breakfast spots, but perfect red holes marred the middle of their foreheads. Everything behind each of them was spattered with blood and brain matter, the walls coated in blossoming patterns of gore. Immaculate white furniture no longer gleaned cleanly, but bled reds and browns. A single fly landed in Alexei's gaping mouth. Amidst all the death, there was beauty. Not in the blood patterns nor the gratification, but in Natasha, standing in the center of the room, staring straight passed Bucky and into some distant void. She was the artist of this masterpiece, and he could see in her eyes that it had cost a piece of her soul.

"Why?" was all he could manage to croak, his mouth completely dry.

Natasha still looked through him, as if he was nothing but a ghost, but responded anyway, "You already have too much to live with. You didn't need this too."

 

Bucky tossed his own gun away and knocked the pistol in her hand to the floor so he could envelop her in his arms completely. His strong, larger than life Natasha suddenly felt very small and very fragile. She did not hug him back, she did not look any direction but forward, and for a moment he was worried that she did not even breathe. A selfish part of him was angry that she had stolen this from him, that now he had to watch her suffer the pain that should have been his alone to bare, but he silenced the sentiment quickly. It wasn't until he felt a dampness seep through his shirt that he realized she was silently crying.

"It's okay," he murmured softly. It was his turn now to reassure her. "Everything is going to be okay."

Finally, she looked up at him with tears rolling out of her eyes like glistening streams through fields of snow.

"I just want to go home."

***

Steve held his breath as he spotted Natasha and Bucky from the crowd of arrival passengers flooding out of security. The heavy suitcases he had helped them unload only sixth months earlier were nowhere to be seen except for the dark blue bags under their eyes. Instead of light steps, bounding onward into adventure, they trudged forward like starving trailblazers lost in an ocean of mud. He had been looking forward to seeing the bright smiles he knew and loved, but even from twenty yards away he could tell it would be a long time before that would happen again. They looked like they had been to hell and back, and he wasn't at all sure what to do. Thankfully, he didn't have to. The second Natasha spotted him, she lightly tapped Bucky's arm and they both started sprinting down the corridor. All Steve could do was brace himself as both his best friends barreled into him at full force. The three of them toppled down onto the floor, ignoring the strange looks of everyone around them. He hugged them both at the same time, finally feeling complete again now that the two other pieces of his heart had come home (he tried telling them that once, but Natasha had broken down cackling and Bucky begged him to please for the love of Christ never say something that sappy ever again in his life or he might literally die). For a brief moment, everything was right in the world again. A brief moment.

"We have to get Bucky to a clinic," Natasha said soberly, standing back up on her own while Steve helped Bucky to his feet. "He needs a physical evaluation and a methadone prescription."

Steve nodded dutifully and let Bucky lean on his shoulder as they slowly made their way back to the parking lot and into his truck. He could feel the tremors wracking the poor kid's body even through both their heavy coats. Bucky fell asleep almost as soon as he sat down, so Steve laid him down so he could take up the whole backseat while Natasha took shotgun. He paid the parking tab and pulled out of the garage, more eager than ever to get Bucky to a hospital and then finally back home.

"Thank God," she muttered, glancing back over her shoulder. "He hasn't slept in nearly 40 hours. The withdrawal had him vomiting the whole flight."

 

"What the hell happened out there, Nat?" he asked. "You guys go dark for three months and then suddenly you need a ride home from the airport because 'shit got bad' and you're coming back early? I love you guys, but I really think I deserve some information."

He did not mean to be harsh, but there was no way to put into words how abandoned he felt when they stopped responding to his emails or answering his Skype calls. Sure, he had Sam and Scott in the apartment for a while, but it just wasn't the same. Nothing was the same without them.

Natasha looked at him with a frozenness he had not seen from her in years.

"Short version? I became anorexic. Bucky got hooked on heroin and joined the Russian mafia. My childhood best friend used him to try selling me into the sex trade. He almost killed three people but I shot them first. Happy?"

Steve pulled off the road and slammed on the breaks so hard that even with a seatbelt strapped across her chest, Natasha almost bashed her head into the dashboard. Bucky was so deep in sleep that he didn't even flinch. Though she defiantly kept her gaze straight ahead, Steve stared at her stubbornly. When after several minutes she still refused to look him in the eye, he snapped. He did not shout. He did not yell. But he could feel every fiber of his being splinter apart. He curled his hands into his hair, not sure what to do with them. Why did they hurt so badly? Breath was hard to come by, so he gained what he could in short gasps. The truck was in park but he could swear they were still moving. Natasha finally looked over at him, quizzically.

"You could have called," he rasped, his voice not obeying his brain's commands to be firm. "I would have been on the next flight to Moscow."

"Steve, are you having a panic attack?"

"I don't know, Natasha, am I?!" he blurted at the expense of the only air he had left in his lungs.

He wanted to say more. He wanted to apologize for reacting when he should have been getting Bucky to a hospital, for being so weak that he dared to break down in her presence after all she had been through. He tried to pull himself together, really tried, but it felt as if his lungs suddenly ceased to exist. Nothing was ever going to be the same. Everything they planned, everything the dreamed of, it was over. There was no normal life to go back to now. The two people he loved more than life itself went through hell and he hadn't been there. They were broken and they had been too far away for him to do a damn thing. The world fell apart and he wasn't there to stop it.

"Rogers, I need you to breathe," Natasha instructed firmly, though her hand rubbed gentle circles around his back.

"I'm... I'm... I'm sorry," he forced out between gasps. "You... you shouldn't... you shouldn't have to-"

"Shut up." It was the kindest tone she had used all day. "You'll have plenty of opportunities to get me back later. Now move to the backseat with Bucky. I'll drive."

Using all of his remaining strength, he shuffled around to the back half of the cab. Bucky's reclined body took up almost the entire bench, so Steve had to position himself for the other young man's head to rest in his lap. He didn't mind. It was comforting to be able to keep a hand on his chest, to be able to feel his heartbeat and be reminded that they were all still alive. He tried not to focus on his face. It was worn and haggard, making him look a decade too old. He tried not to think about the pain that had made him this way. Steve's breathing finally began to level out, and he dropped his head down onto Bucky's shoulder. It was awkward positioning, but he would have snapped himself in half if it meant being close to him right now. He looked up and saw light coming down through the windshield right onto Natasha's hair, giving her an angelic halo befitting her role. Despite the grace she seemed to exude, he knew she was right. There would be plenty of opportunities coming for him to repay the favor. For all her selflessness and control, he knew all that damage building up, stewing and festering in her mind was bound to break her down. No one goes through what she did and comes out on the other side unscathed. Steve could take a valium and be done with it. Bucky could spend a week or two in rehab. There was no telling what, if anything, could fix her when she finally broke.

***

_Everything was white, so white that it made Natasha's eyes burn. She was standing on a mountain cloaked in snow with the sun glaring off the icy surface. No, she was in a room with four walls. Four white walls. She had never seen anything so clean in her life. She did not breathe. She was afraid it would stain them somehow. She wanted to preserve the whiteness, the pureness of it. It made her feel weightless and hollow. She reveled in the still vacuum, letting it carry her away from the world she was forgetting more and more with every passing second. Then there was blood. So much blood. Too much blood. It started at her feet, spilling out from under her toes and coating the floor. Then the panels of the walls began to ooze crimson. Something compelled her to look up just as a glob dripped from the center of the ceiling onto the center of her forehead. Dead center. Just like Yelena._

_"You could have left," Yelena's voice whispered in her ear, phantom breath tickling her skin. "You could have taken Bucky and left, but you chose to stay. You chose to kill us."_

_Natasha spun around, more blood dripping down on her face. Yelena was not there, but her voice remained._

_"You could have been a great dancer. You could have let Bucky rot with us and stayed to train with the Bolshoi. Do you know how many innocent lives he ruined? Does Steve know? Do either of them know you liked killing us?"_

_She fell to her knees and screamed. The blood poured into her mouth until it filled her lungs and streamed out of every open orifice in her body. Until there was nothing left._

_"Natasha."_

_"Natasha."_

"Natasha!"

First there was darkness, but then Steve's face pierced through the black oblivion. His bright blue eyes were full of fear, as if he had just watched the apartment catch fire... or heard his roommate screaming from the couch in the dead of night. Nat rubbed her face a few times before sitting up. Last she remembered, she had been an hour in to some mindless action flick one of the boys left in the DVD player, determined not to fall asleep. Sleep meant night terrors, for both her and Bucky. It only seemed fair to rest in shifts so Steve wouldn't have to deal with both of them at once. He was so determined to make sure neither of them had to be alone when the nightmares struck, to the point that he was probably more sleep-deprived than they were. She tried to limit her naps to daytime hours when he was in class, but four hour stints in the afternoon obviously weren't cutting it anymore.

"I'm sorry," she said through a yawn. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Come on," he replied, sweeping her into his arms.

Usually, Natasha would fret or make a scene out of Steve trying to carry her anywhere, but this time she just slipped her arms around his neck and leaned her head against his chest. The rhythm of his breathing combined with the beat of his heart was calming enough to remind her just how exhausted she really was. Being almost embarrassingly gentle, he carried her into his room where Bucky was lying awake in the queen-sized bed. His head was propped up on his bent arm, staring at her almost as intensely as Steve had. He almost never slept in his own room anymore. The last time he did, Steve and Natasha found him curled up in a corner and nearly everything he owned smashed into pieces. This way, every time he woke up flailing and raging, Steve could calm him back down.

"Are you alright?" Bucky asked as Steve laid her down on the bed next to him. "We could hear you from in here."

"It was just a bad dream."

Bucky tussled her hair and pulled her in closer as Steve slid back into bed. It was a tight squeeze for three of them, but Natasha could not remember the last time she felt so secure. As soon as he settled in, the two each put an arm over her to reach each other, enveloping her almost completely. Bucky's hands were their usual cold, while Steve's temperature seemed to always run hot. Between the two of them resting on her skin, the equilibrium was more soothing than any drug or treatment could ever be. She let out a deep sigh and buried herself deeper in the cocoon of blankets and flesh. A single ray of dull light began to peek through the closed shutters, giving a faint warning of the approaching day, but Natasha closed her eyes and pretended the sun no longer existed. She just wanted to stay wrapped in the warm darkness. Just as she was about to drift off into sleep, she felt Steve shift, causing a waft of cold air to suddenly rush down her back. Natasha instinctively curled closer to Bucky.

"What's wrong?" Bucky asked, rubbing his eyes while Natasha just groaned.

 

Steve sat up completely, looking as awake as a person could be.

"I love you."

"Yeah, I love you too, kid. Now can you please get back in bed?"

Natasha quickly rolled over and drove all ideas of sleep from her mind. She knew where this was going; where it had been going for years.

"I don't mean as a friend, Buck."

Now Bucky was wide awake as well, and pushed himself up to his knees so he and Steve could be at equal eye level. Natasha stayed reclined, obscured by blankets from the nose down, making herself as invisible as possible. She did not want to interrupt, but she also felt like she had a right to see how the conversation played out.

"You think you mean that, but you don't," Bucky said after a pause, his gaze diverting to the wall. "Not after what I've done." 

The words drove a knife through Natasha's heart. After what _he_ had done? If his actions made him so unworthy of affection, where did that leave her?

Steve put a hand firmly on his shoulder, creating a bridge between them over Natasha. It was as if she no longer existed at all, but it didn't bother her. That was the way this moment was supposed to be. Nothing else mattered but the two of them to each other. Wasn't that the whole point?

"I don't care," Steve said determinedly. "You're back and you're getting clean. What matters is that you're trying to be a better person, and that's worth loving to the moon and back."

Guilt filled Natasha's gut, and she buried her face into the pillow. He was right. Bucky was doing everything humanly possible to get his life back in order. He went to an addiction program, he took his meds every day, he talked to his therapist on a weekly basis, hell she even saw him making wire transfers to a women's shelter in Ukraine. Sure, most of it was because Steve made the appointments, and none of it was helping to cure the self-loathing, but at least he was trying. What had she been doing since getting back? Not seeking treatment, not dancing again, not eating properly when she wasn't being watched, not a damn thing. She was glad Steve and Bucky had each other now; they deserved it. They had been in love for years, it was just a matter of figuring out the 'what' and the 'how.' Sure, it hurt like hell, especially after Belarus, but that kiss didn't really count, did it? They were scared and panicked and hopped up on adrenaline. She had always been a little more than just friends with both of them, but compared to the bond she knew Steve and Bucky shared, it was all just games. Now they had reached the end and she was coming in dead last.

"I should give you guys some space," Natasha quipped as nonchalantly as she could manage, trying to wriggle herself out from between them.

"Please don't leave."

It was Bucky's voice nearly begging, but it reached her ears as a command. No matter how hard she tried to be bigger and tougher than her boys, she could deny them noting. Well, they weren't really her boys anymore.

"I'm happy for you," she tried to say firmly, but it came out as a croak.

Bucky ran his thumb over her cheek, and she didn't know why until he brushed it against her lips and the faint taste of salt water met her mouth. She mentally cursed in every language she knew. Her own body had called her bluff. How pathetic.

"I didn't mean to ruin your moment." she continued, swatting his hand away and quickly brushing her face dry. "I'll go back to bed in my own room. You two have fun with your happy ending."

The young men stared at each other, having some sort of silent conversation she obviously was not meant to hear. Though their eyes were not fixed toward Natasha, the intensity still focused on her made her squirm. The quiet tension was nearly unbearable.

"This isn't a fairytale, Nat," Steve finally said. "We don't get a happy ending, but we do get a fresh start. And we don't want that fresh start without you."

Natasha blinked a few times in disbelief. Was Steven Grant Rogers, the goddamn poster-boy for all things model and perfect, really suggesting what she thought he was? She quickly looked to Bucky, her face pleading for some sort of explanation. The man had obviously been in love with his best friend for years. There was no way he was about to throw a wrench in that, right?

He shrugged.

"I love you. I always have. Both of you. And if Steve feels the same way -if you feel the same way- then I don't see what's wrong with that."

Something should have been wrong, or at least felt wrong. This wasn't the way these things were supposed to work. She thought her brain would have told her it wasn't right, that it was just too crazy and not the way things were done. But there was radio silence from all corners of her mind. There was no doubt, no fear, no hesitation, no aversion. There was only simplicity. No, this was the way things were supposed to be, at least for them. Steve was right, their lives were not fairytales. No one told happy stories about drug addicts and murderers and nervous wrecks. They did not need to follow the fairytale rules of true love's kiss at the end of the story. If anyone had a right to be unconventional, it was her and Bucky and Steve.

Suddenly she laughed. It rose from her chest before she even realized it was there and did not stop. She laughed and laughed and laughed until tears streamed down her face. She could not tell if she was laughing to hide the sobs or crying to dampen the laughter. She did not care which. The order did not matter anyway. Natasha felt Bucky's arms pull her into an embrace and then Steve wrapping them both in a massive bear hug. In that moment, Nat swore she could have seen the face of God. There was no better place on heaven or earth than right between the two people she loved most.

Natasha didn't need a happy ending. She had Bucky and Steve, and they had her.


End file.
